


a time to rend

by ThreadSketchier



Series: Glimpses [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty Schmoop, Brother Feels, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, To be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreadSketchier/pseuds/ThreadSketchier
Summary: Just my take on one way Han could have found out about Luke's prosthetic hand, and their honey-nut feelios smack in the middle of ROTJ, before heading off to Endor.





	a time to rend

**Author's Note:**

> In the recent past (well, last year) I was spending more and more time writing private fic, aka fic I felt was curated to one friend at a time. Just for kicks I started a random series of vignettes revolving around the OT gang around and immediately post-ROTJ for culturevulture73, and it lingered in my Google docs. Now that I'm in a severe time drought to continue writing my WIPs, I crave dat validation mineral, so I asked if it was OK to post these publicly. Be warned: these are unapologetically schmaltzy, because they were meant to make me feel all warm n' fuzzy. Gird thy loins and brace yourselves for tooth-rotting sweetness and absurdity in between my usual dashes of angst.

If Leia hadn’t told him it’d been only a year, give or take, he never would’ve guessed it from seeing Luke.  It was like the kid had aged a decade since they’d left Hoth. He was thinner, quieter, and far more somber, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.  The lines etched in his face had deepened and the bones framing his features stood out sharply, as if the time had whittled him down like a knife. Sheathed in black, he now carried himself with a poise that exuded a startling capability unlike the eager, scrappy resourcefulness he’d always had – there was a lethal edge to him now that the farmboy pilot, and even the squadron commander, couldn’t convey.

Bespin had irrevocably changed them all, scattering them to its winds.  Luke had to grow up someday, and he’d already been halfway there, but this felt as though he’d never really come back when he walked away in Echo Base’s hangar.  This man didn’t need his protection or his help. It should have been a relief, but this was not the way Han would’ve ever wanted Luke to mature.

The glove was an oddity, though.  Maybe it had some purpose regarding the handling of his lightsaber – hell, his  _ new _ lightsaber, something else the kid had nailed – not dissimilar to the way Han sometimes wore his old steering gloves.  But he seemed to wield it two-handed most of the time, so it wasn’t adding up.

“Lost one?” Han quipped, trying to be casual about it.  Luke glanced up from where he was adjusting his belt over the camouflage poncho he’d donned, saw Han eyeing his right hand, and cast his gaze down to the deck as though a massive weight had just fallen onto his shoulders.  Instantly Han regretted opening his mouth, but part of him now felt compelled to know what was wrong.

Luke curled his hand into a loose fist as he regained his composure, a brittle smile stretching his lips.  “It wasn’t a glove I lost.”

Dread pooled in the pit of Han’s stomach.  Luke hesitated for a moment, then peeled the glove back to reveal a large, charred wound across the back of his hand that exposed the dull glint of metal and colored wires.

Han was aware of himself staring in horror less for it being damaged and more for its mere existence, that Luke had been hurt this badly, although seeing it blown open while Luke nonchalantly went about his preparations was just as disturbing.  Shame and guilt shuttered Luke’s features, and he said, “It’s not carbonite.”

Han slammed down the lid of the crate he’d been packing, horror rocketing into rage.  “ _ Dammit _ , Luke, this ain’t a pissing match.”  He stepped over to him, instinctively reaching out but then holding back.  “Does it hurt?” he asked warily.

The shake of his head was relaxed and not furtive.  Sincere. “No. Only at first, but it’s all right now.  Moves just fine.” He flexed the hand, opening and closing the fingers and rotating the wrist to prove his point.  “That blaster must have been on low power.”

So that’s why he’d heard Luke yell at one point during the melee at the sail barge.  With his vision still blurry, he hadn’t even noticed up close, when they were all together aboard the skiff before the sandstorm hit.

“That’s no excuse not to get it patched up now before we head out.”

Luke gave an uncomfortable little shrug, smoothing the glove back into place.  “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “It works. We’re heading out now – ”

“It’ll matter if you’re wrong and it shorts out later,” Han snapped, grabbing Luke’s forearm as he began to turn away.  He cupped his other hand beneath the prosthetic, keeping his touch light and careful. “Vader did this?” His voice was low, simmering with anger and compassion.

The muscles in Luke’s jaw bunched and his eyes went distant, and that was enough of an answer.  Han wanted to tell him they’d never let that happen again, never let Vader round them up and tear them apart again, but he knew it was a promise he could never make, not as long as that walking scrap heap kept existing.  And if the grand high poobah himself was aboard the new Death Star, chances were good his rabid nek dog would be close by.

Maybe that was Luke’s reasoning – what good was it to get his prosthetic repaired now if they all died?

_ Hey kid, it’s  _ my _ job to be the pessimist around here _ .  Well, seems he was wrong about Luke not needing protection any longer.  At least for his soul, if nothing else.

Han gently released Luke’s hand and gripped his shoulder.  “Listen. I’m gonna say it every day until it’s drilled clean through that hard head of yours.  _ Don’t blame yourself for this _ .  We all signed up for this shavit together.  We’ve all gotten hurt. But we’re gonna stick together and keep fighting together. Not just ‘cause it’s the right thing to do or we got nothing left, but keepin’ on being a pain in their asses is the best payback we can give.”

There was a nervous twitch to it, but Luke coughed out a small laugh, hanging and shaking his head.  Han spread his hand across the back of it, grasping and giving it an affectionate tussle. “You got that?”

“Yeah, Han.  Yeah.”


End file.
